


Fuckin' Mr. Nice Guy

by darkeyedresolve



Category: College Football RPF, National Football League RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-11
Updated: 2010-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkeyedresolve/pseuds/darkeyedresolve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim Tebow is such a fucking nice guy. I don’t really get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuckin' Mr. Nice Guy

**Author's Note:**

> I live the identity of the other man up to the reader, and I promise this was never meant to be a Mary Sue kind of work. At the time, and really still do, I can picture really different guys with Tebow. Eric Decker, Brady Quinn, Riley Cooper, Percy Harvin, etc. I just did an open ended one to see who people put in.
> 
> Comments loved and wanted.

I’ve had one too many drinks now; yea I’m feeling it. I look down at the small glass and just stare at the melted ice cubes and watered down, brown liquor. I really don’t know what I’m doing here, or why I decide to torture myself like this. Or really him either, that fucking Mr. Nice Guy. The game went to hell and I felt like blaming myself for it, which is really stupid and I know that. I’m not a fucking rookie but here I am, in a fucking no name bar where I’m mopping around.

I really didn’t think he would come at first but then I realized this was Timmy. You just say help, and he is there. No wonder they call him Superman, because he fucking likes to save the day. I can hear the gleeful whispers around me as he walks in, I don’t even bother with turning around to look at him. Side long glance, I can see the girls, and the guys, all get those excited looks in their faces as he walks up.

            “I got your text,” Tim is standing beside me now, “Are you feeling alright?” He is wearing a vintage t-shirt, from some school in Florida, which hugs his big torso. And it makes him look so fuckin’ sexy.

            “Yea, just not a good idea to drive,” I mutter and finally look over at him. I watch his watch his face as his look of concern slowly turns into a warm grin, that fuckin’ bright smile.

            “Well it’s good you are careful, I’m happy to take you back home.” Tim says as he plops himself down at the bar beside me.

            “Of course you are.” I feel like a dick as I mutter it under my breath, “Let me buy you a drink.” I raise my hand to get the bartender’s attention, but she is already on us and buzzing with anticipation.

            “You know I don’t drink.” Tim reminded me gently and just asked for water with lemon from the bar tender.

            “Yea…how could I forget that?” I must be drunker than I thought. Or I forgot, for a brief moment, that Timmy’s not like everyone else. People like to drink; they like to flood their bodies with thought numbing liquor. I do anyway; sometimes…I’m not fucking alcoholic or anything. I just hate to lose, and so does Timmy. He just handles it like a fucking saint.

            We linger here in the bar for a few more minutes, I’m mostly stewing over my left over drink and Tim’s providing sunny company. All the bar’s patrons have been coming over to talk him up, and even at three am, Tim is just as bubbly as normal. He continually turns down their drink offers with southern charm and grinning lips. It’s like a scene from fucking Cheers, this is all too much. I need more to drink. It not like I’m not getting drink offers, and I’m at least taking people up on them, but it’s not the same thing. I’m actively projecting a “don’t fucking talk to me” look and Tim would eclipse me anyway, though it’s actually kind of nice. He does the fan stuff better than most, like he genuinely likes talking to these fucking idiots who think they know football better than us. Really, I can just sit and enjoy myself in the shade of my Tim Tebow sun.

And it isn’t until a belligerent drunk starts badmouthing Timmy that night gets interesting, I can feel my temper being to rise and it’s bolstered by the alcohol. I guess this guy must be some redneck Alabama fan, or LSU, Georgia, it’s the SEC after all. Hell, after seeing what happened in Cincinnati, it might be some disgruntling Ohioan. I think Tim’s Gators have demolished every team from that state. Tim must be able to feel it because I can feel his hand on my shoulder; he gives me a reassuring warm vibe from his touch. I slowly unclench my fingers from around my glass, but the tension is still tight in my stomach.

 Most guys would have got up and clobbered that ass, the way he was fucking running his mouth about Timmy. I know I wanted too, I hate when people talk about him. He might be built like a tank but I am still protective of him, he is my fuckin Timmy. And fuck Goddell, I really don’t care if I get fine for punching a drunk. But Tim Tebow isn’t like human, so he asks the bartender what the guy was drinking; buys him a drink and tells him God Bless. The man, just as dumbfounded as most would be, mumbles something and hastily drinks his beer. He leaves soon after, hopefully feeling like a piece of shit.

I’ve tried to figure him out, I really have and been sorta successful. I didn’t think he was real before I met him. The bible verses, the missions trips, Sunday school; I thought that it was all a big act. But no, Timmy acts the same where ever he goes. He is usually smiling and never speaks badly about people, even when I try to get something out of him. On the field, Tim Tebow is the perfect competitor; he is ferocious and determined to kick the opponent’s ass. I have a hard time not getting a boner just watching him in action. I kinda wonder where that man goes when he is back to off the field Timmy with the grin and the Bible.

He’s such a fuckin nice guy. It makes me have another drink before we head back to my place. Sometimes it’s better to be drunk when I fuck him like I do, because it’s almost not right to be able to defile him like I do. Tim likes it though; at least his moans, kisses and orgasms tell me that. Not that being sober doesn’t have tons of fucking perks, like being able to remember every twitch of his muscles and pursing of his lips before he lets go. Even drunk I will remember it though, it was beautifully wet and blurry dream.

With my arm over his shoulder, I lean against his body. Being drunk, I can get away with whatever I want as we walk towards my place. I lick and kiss on his thick neck; I can feel my lips grazing his skin and the chills I am giving him. It’s cute, the way his face scrunches up like a kid when I toy with him like this. Timmy tries to ignore my groping hands, getting a feel of his strong chest and perky nipples, as they move over soft cotton. He gives a few weak protests as my hand reaches down to his crotch, already semi bulging against my hand.

“Dude, can’t you wait?” He asks as he tries to brush off my hands, but he doesn’t put up near the fight he could.

“Mmm, no.” I mouth against his skin as I give it a nibble and then a tug with my teeth. He hisses at the action but continues walking us to my apartment in the city.

We almost don’t make it to my room; I’m so fucking horny now. I have him pressed against the elevator wall as we soar up through the building. I have my hands up under his shirt and his pants partial undone. He has his hands against my arms, which is sort of effective in keeping me from really going to town. It doesn’t stop me from continuing to assault his full lips and feel the scratching of his facial hair against my skin. He’s shaved so he looks younger than he is and his hair was thickened out after that hazing. I could have killed them for doing that, fucking with Timmy like that.

The elevator shudders and dings, though I thought it was just Tebow’s body shaking with desire. We stumble out of it and I’m pulling at his body with unrelenting hunger. With him being sober and a fucking strong as an ox, I can’t effectively pin him in place. How can someone so big be so slippery?

“Hold still.” I grunt as my hands dig into his sides and pull his mouth against mine. He seems to calm for the moment, maybe I sounded a little too mean. I can feel his lips parting as my tongue pushes in and my body pushes him against the hallway wall. In my drunken stupor, I could fucking care less who might see us though it would really fuck our careers.

Timmy pushes his palms up under my arms and dislodges our lips,”Come on, just a few more steps.” He has gotten his lips slightly swollen from my rough kissing and a flush on his cheeks. Fuck, I want to do him right now. He takes my wrist and manages to get me into my apartment before I’m able to make good on my plans.

It almost makes me feel bad about when I get all rough and nasty when we fuck, almost. With a body built more like a tight end or hell a linebacker, Timmy can take a lot of physical punishment. I can fondle, squeeze, spank, grab and man handle that guy to my heart’s content. I can pound him into the bed, the floor, against the wall, bent over the counter; and he never complains. He moans, groans, pants, and cums whether we do it rough or gentle. I guess what wasn’t a surprise is that he turned out to be a big bottom, probably has something to do with that endless desire to please others. And he’s fucking eager to learn, just like he is on the football field.

Timmy doesn’t get a chance to flip on the light before I’m all over him again, and we collapse on the floor. There is some dim light coming from the outside, the street lights that manage to flood through the uncovered windows. The fade white light allows me to watch his body as I strip him of his shirt and show the white skin that covers those thick, steely muscles. I waste no time in sucking with my lips and working my hands over every bare inch of skin.  With his pants already worked down, I can feel his dicks training in his cotton briefs. He fucking wears briefs, it’s almost freaky innocent but also so hot.

“Uh, please…don’t…” Tim doesn’t like wait, which is good tonight, I’m in no mood to wait. I want to fuck him and go to bed; we can talk about shit in the morning.  

It doesn’t take long before is Tim’s riding me. It’s hot that he is just as passionate when we fuck as he is about football and God. Those muscle ripple and flex, so damn nicely too, as he rises and falls on my cock. He’s loud; and he gets louder as we go. It almost makes me cum just getting his strong, round ass bouncing against my groin. I fucking love that ass; it has a nice jiggle when my groin hits it. Timmy drives himself on to my cock with uninhibited want and desire, which took a little time to get out of him. That fucking Christian guilt was a stumbling block for a few weeks…then we managed to kick it over.

“You like this, Timmy” It’s not a question; I don’t need to ask anymore.

“Yea...” He gives a panted answer as his powerful body continues to moves over my mine, with his hands clutching on to my arms and moving along my upper body.

“With me, you like this with me, Timmy.” I wrap my hand around his bouncing, hard cock and quickly begin to stroke to his pace.

He arches back up and I can feel him seize of with tension, because he is a lot tighter on my dick now. We could go for a long while, all night long, but I’m not in the mood for full four quarters. I work him so he will work me, we are a team; the best fucking team on the planet. My mind is becoming lost in haze of booze and sex, and Tim’s moans seem to be a chant that pushes me deeper into the abyss. I can make out his body and his face contoured in passion as his body finally releases that pent up emotion.

It becomes white hot in my head and my body burns…and then it all goes to black.

“Here” Timmy’s voice echoes in my head and it is quickly dulled out by the ringing in it, “Drink this.”

I feel a hand behind my head and slowly helps me sit up, though it doesn’t help my head any. I mutter and curse but I feel the firm rim of a glass against my lips. Tart and acidy, it’s fuckin’ orange juice. Of course, he always says that orange juice is good for hangovers. I don’t think it makes a difference but I’ll go along with it. He rubs his hand along my neck, and I’m slowly realizing I’m in bed when my last memory was on the apartment floor.

“Time is it?” I need to get my head together; my world is becoming less blurry and Tim’s face of concern fleshes out.

“Nine, I think.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish about not knowing the time.

“Earlier than I thought.” I fall back on the pillow, “Should have let me sleep.”

“Well you were groaning about being thirsty.” Tim shrugs, “Figured you like a drink.”

Now I feel guilty, guilty and hung over. I grabbed for his arm and tug him, he slides up against me. Burying my face into his hair, I’m lucky. I’m lucky to have a nice guy in this world. I’m lucky to be fucking Mr. Nice Guy too.


End file.
